


The Sign of an Odd Number

by sureaintmebabe



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drama, F/M, Hurt, M/M, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:39:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sureaintmebabe/pseuds/sureaintmebabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is getting married. And three... Well, three is an odd number.<br/>*<br/>This is a little fic in three chapters, in first person, from three different pov. I guess they'll be pretty obvious since you start reading, so I won't spoil the "party" now.<br/>The fic was written because I was sad, so no comfort here. Sorry. D:<br/>*<br/>It would be easy enough to make Mary into a bad person, but it wasn't what I wanted. I'm assuming she is just a normal, intelligent woman who found a really great guy and wants to keep him. Who could blame her? I'd want a John Watson myself, wouldn't you?<br/>*<br/>I obviously don't own a thing here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Even

**I. _Even_**

 

The fist time I met you, I asked myself how could a man like you still be single. You are kind, smart and charming, and it was all I could want in a boyfriend. I gave myself to you very quickly because you seemed to want it, and you seemed to need it. I dare say that we found each other. I thought that we were meant to be. I did see that blur of sadness in your eyes, and I could imagine why, but I let you tell me on your own time. I wanted you to trust me.

I didn't mind the fact that you were _the John Watson,_ the confirmed bachelor, as the papers used to say before. It never really mattered to me, it never made any difference. If you were any doctor, or _the doctor_ , _the partner_ of the famous Sherlock Holmes, it didn't seem to have any importance.

But then I met him.

He came back and I met him.

And he wasn't the only one I met then. I met him and I met you all over again. I met _his_ John. And I saw that blur from your eyes just disappear.

I understood why you liked me. You liked me because I had nothing to do with Sherlock Holmes and the life you had buried inside your own heart. It was easy for you to trick me and to pretend everything was fine because I didn't have anything to compare to.

But when I saw you with him, I knew. I think I knew more than you did. I'll never tell you this, because it's not my job, but he was hurting. He can act, but I knew he was hurting. I knew because I have you, and I can imagine what it is not to have you anymore.

 

I'm lost, John, I am. I'm divided between the certainty that I'll never give you up, and the certainty that I'll never be quite enough. I don't know what to make of this. What can I make of this?

I know I can't ask you to stay away from him, I know this choice would never favour me. I can't just shout at you, argue, I can't. I love you way too much for this. I understand way too much and way too little at the same time to have the guts to ask for it.

I encouraged you to move back with him because I wanted you to be happy, and because I wanted to be around. He had to know. He had to know I wouldn't give up.

I know that my part in your life has to be built around you two, around him. I'll do this. I'll do it because I love you, and I won't lose you to him. He had his time to make his move, I won't give this up.

 

Maybe I shouldn't stay in the middle of you two. Maybe. If I were in my perfect senses, I'd run away and find me a nice, normal man. But I don't want anyone else, John, I want you. We were happy when we first met, weren't we? So I kept telling myself that it was just a period of adjustment, that everything is going to be fine.

I can't even explain exactly why I feel so threatened. You are not gay, you never gave me any reason to think otherwise. But then again, I know love is the most amazing thing. I think I know more about it than you. I keep telling myself that maybe I'm lucky because you don't seem to realize how you love him. But I know I am truly lucky because you don't realize how he loves you back. I can see it, I keep asking myself how can _you_ not see it! My mum was right all along, you men are completely clueless.

Sometimes I envy what you two have without even realizing. He does, but I know you don't realize it, John. You two function like this perfect organism and it's so intense... I bet you never realized how you move around him. He is this imperious planet and you move around like a satellite. You respond to each other like magnets, I don't think even he realizes this. Being the arrogant man he is, he would never admit that he attached himself so much to someone that even his movements are compromised.

 

But I keep telling myself that I can make you happy.

Even if I can't give you what he gives you, I can give you other things. I can give you a proper life, a family, I can be by your side, I can take care of you, and I know he can't.

Thank God for small favours.

I shouldn't rely on this, I know, it's a poor reassurance, but I can't lose you... Why would I give you up if neither one of you had the courage to talk about any of this? Why should I be the one to lose you? He can lose you, he isn't my problem. You are.

 

He is a prick, John, he doesn't deserve you. I know I can't judge this, but he is. I am the one who loves you and takes care of you. I won't lose you!

 

When you asked me to marry you I couldn't believe it! It was the best day of my life. I was so happy, I pretended for a minute that we could be whole together, that I could be everything that you needed. I want to be, I have to.

You can make me happy, and it's so strange that even so, I'm always feeling this incomplete. Because I know you are. It's so clear that you can't be complete without him that I can only accept that this is going to be part of our life.

I hope you're happy, at least. I hope you're happy having the two people you love by your side. You are so modest and yet you're the one with people around you who could do anything for you. Sometimes I think about which one of us is going to give up first. Me or him? I won't give you up. And I know he just can't. He would probably be dead without you.

I often ask myself if you can see how much you hurt us. I bet you can't. I don't let you. I know you don't mean it, I know you're just a bit messy in relationships.

Did it ever occur to you that the only relationship in which you're perfect is the one you have with him? Of course it didn't. It probably never occurred to you that you two have a relationship at all. Anyway, It's not perfect anymore.

You're messy, John.

You're messy, and I love you so much. Because it's your only fault. Your only fault is that you were already a bit taken when we met.

 

But we're going to be happy. I know this.

We have to be.  


	2. One

**II. _One_**

 

I know you're nervous, you know? I know you're disturbed. It kills me. It kills me because I'm not sure why, and I can't ask you this without burning the bridges behind me, and I could never burn any bridge that leads me to you. I just can't...

Who am I kidding? You're probably just upset that you'll have to make your own damn tea, and that you'll have to clean the kitchen after your bloody experiments! I laugh. I wouldn't admit it, but I'm going to miss it. It's difficult to have any idea of home that doesn't include a skull on the mantel, violin at night and you flying around in your dressing gown.

I have to do this, though. It kills me. It's killing me.

I have a strong character, I think. I am a good man, I can fight anything. But I couldn't fight this. I couldn't fight this wish to be normal. I'm not normal. I know people think I'm normal, but I'm not. You know this. The only reason why I look normal it's because I'm always at your side. It's the same reason why people seem to think I am so short. I am not that short, for God's sake. It's you that look like a giraffe. You sodding git.

I'm going to miss you. I'm going to miss you so much that sometimes I pretend I'm not going to marry in a few days. I'm in this emotional storm, it's pathetic. I'm not a teenage girl, I'm a Captain, I have to honour my choices.

I'm doing this. I'll regret it some days, maybe most of them, but I have to do it.

I love her, I do. She's kind and funny and light and comprehensive. She's everything that you are not. You'll never be. And why do I continue to compare my future wife with my flatmate? Why do I insist on doing this if I could never just open my mouth and say that I love you? I love you, I do. I've always loved you, it's quite obvious.

It's nothing, blokes love their best friends, you know? These days it's called bromance, or something like that. Most people don't have a consuming best friend like me, but I still love you. Of course I do, it's normal.

 

But it's not, is it? Things are never normal with you, or with me.

You're not common. Sometimes I think I was an idiot to expect something ordinary from you. You like me, but you don't love me. You don't feel things that way. You didn't love Irene, you've never loved me either. Did you ever want anyone? Did you ever want me? Why do I keep asking myself this? I have to stop this.

You've never wanted anyone. You think people are dull. I'm the dullest of them all. Why would you want me, anyway? It's silly. All those people insinuating you and I were together, that was silly.

I'm not gay.

Well, living with you proved me that I'm not straight either, but that's none of anybody's business. It's not a problem. I'd love you anyway – man, woman or alien. Maybe you are an alien, after all.

I wanted you so much, I still do, is just that... I loved the one man I could never have.

Maybe I did have.

Did I? I'm just being delusional.

I can't stay like this forever, just wanting you and not knowing. I can't do this. I know you can't understand, but I'm human and this is sad. It just got to a point where it was too sad and we couldn't giggle enough to make all the emptiness go away. Well, watching you giggle just make me want you more.

Oh, God, listen to me, I sound like a teenage girl. Stupid.

 

I'm moving out, I'm getting married, I'll start a family.

It's so boring, isn't it?

But I have to do this, Sherlock, I have to.

It's killing me to see you like that, but I have to. Because I don't understand and you won't explain.

I should just stay the hell away from you for sometime, work as a doctor, don't come anywhere near you. But I won't. I'll probably just postpone my honeymoon so we can run through London at night.

I'm planning my honeymoon with you. I'm insane. I'm not making any sense here, damn it.

Maybe I'll stop loving you like this. Yeah, maybe I'll get used to being normal and wanting only my beautiful wife. She's amazing, you know? She loves me so much, it's unfair. She deserves better. She does, but she wants me. It's good to know someone wants me. Nobody ever wants me. Yes, now I'm just whining. But she wants me, and I want her. She wants me so much that she didn't try to replace you. I think she knows she couldn't. Who could ever replace you? I should know that too. Sometimes I ask myself if I'm not just being naïve for trying.

At least she's happy.

One of us is happy.

She is happy. She has to be.

I wish I could say I'm happy. I'm not. This is the truth, I'm not happy. Not for me. I'm happy for her, though. Love is also being happy for someone, wishing their happiness instead of our own. It's called not being a completely selfish git, but you wouldn't know that, would you? Surely you wouldn't.

I'm still bitter, I'm still angry. I still can't believe I lost you for so long.

And now this...

But it has to be done. It just has to be done.

 

The first night I slept in my new house I had a nightmare and there wasn't any violin to help me sleep again. I could never tell her this, but I miss you every damn time, it's crazy! How can I miss you doing nothing at all, sulking on the sofa?

I just... I can't.

This isn't healthy, I can't stay like this, I can't.

I miss making your tea and arguing, I swear I miss you being an arrogant sod. Sometimes I have this feeling that I missed something about us, that we had everything and I just didn't see it. I can almost hear you say that I did not observe. What did I miss, Sherlock?

No. I can't...

I have to put myself together.

 

After the nightmare, I looked at her and found her sleeping graciously beside me. She's such an amazing creature, I hope I don't screw this up. I want to have a nice life, I deserve this, I can't just be your shadow, living of a broken heart, damn it.

 

I hug her, I kiss her and I cuddle her because I want to make her happy, she deserves it.

She smiles, even in her sleep.

At least she is happy.


	3. Odd

**III. _Odd_**

 

When you first told me, I found myself speechless. And for me to admit that, one can imagine how much at loss I was. Oh, I surely did know what lie I was supposed to tell you, but I couldn't bring myself to tell you that I was happy. You wouldn't believe it either. I wasn't, I most definitely wasn't. I wanted to burn our house down.

At first, I was angry. Of course I was angry. I was angry because I'd spent too much time refusing to regard my situation, expecting it to go away. To stay there and listen to those words coming out of your mouth was just too infuriating. It just got too obvious that I was still completely and irrevocably in love with you. Thinking about it now, I have to admit that it was naïve of me to think that I could ever not be in love with you. You're always telling me that I must be the most stupid genius in the world. I ought to be. No, I am sure I am.

While I listened to you tell me you were getting married, I felt my blood run cold and hot at the same time – and I didn't even think that was possible. Well, these emotion-things can be rather unsettling. I wanted to shout at you, to pin you against the wall, to ask why. Why? Why do you have to be so obtuse and boring like that? Why do you have to bend to such social conventions? Why can't you just stay here forever? Why?

The first thing I thought about was to throw you out of the window and to phone Lestrade to pick you up. I've never hated you like that. I felt my fury blinding me and I had to brace myself not to throttle you until you change your mind. I was so mad at you, so mad. I was so mad that I thought I was going to kill you. Kill you or kill myself.

How could you think of doing such thing to me? To us? What about the work? What about my healthy, my safety? So much for a healer! How could you think we didn't have a relationship? We did have one. You saw it, but you didn't observe, not really. We were together. At least, I thought we were.

I cheated death and I came back for us. And then this...

Of course I just stood still and pretended I wasn't listening. I don't think you bought it for a second, but you left it alone for some hours. You went to mind your own business, make tea, read your stupid novels. You left me there with my own thoughts. I rather think that you didn't know exactly what my thoughts were, because the very idea of you knowing how I was suffering and not doing anything about it pains me.

 

You left the flat and didn't come back for hours. I know you went to see her, maybe to tell her I was being as insufferable as always. Maybe you told her that you couldn't wait any longer to move out, to run away from me. Did you tell her that? I doubt it. I can't possibly have been so blind about this. I can't possibly have read everything wrong.

You left me there alone, but I couldn't stay angry with you for long. I was being left behind, you were leaving me, and I couldn't stay angry. I couldn't stand the thought of being angry with you. Why would I be? You were leaving me, it was probably the brightest thing you've done in years. Maybe Sally Donovan was right all along and you convinced yourself that you should stay away from me. Who wants to be stuck with the freak?

I know I am a selfish bastard, but I want your happiness much more that I want mine. There's no such thing as happiness for me, I already know that much. These things are too subjective and unquantifiable for me to know or pursuit. What I can tell is that I was never as close to it as I was while you were here. And I knew that. So you deserve every bit of happiness you can get.

And I am not it. I never was, was I?

While I stood alone in the living room, I allowed myself two preposterous tears thinking about a time when I thought I could see some signs of your feelings for me. At that moment I just didn't know any more. It was interesting to see how afraid I was when I realized I couldn't trust my own methods to deduce you anymore. You were a second Baskerville to me. You made me doubt myself and for that I hated you again for some seconds. My brain, my observations, my deductions are what I have. If I can't trust them, who am I?

It had to be you to make me feel utterly lost and uncharacteristically sad. It seems unfair to me that a sociopath would find himself with tears in his eyes. But then again I never believed in such stupid things as karma or any mysterious justice. The facts were there, and I had to deduce everything again and convince myself that I made a mistake the first time. You possibly never understood the depth of the relationship we had. Or you probably just never loved me, and I let myself think you did, because I wanted you to.

 

When you came back home that night and told me for the second time, I let my fake smile do the work. I still couldn't bring myself to tell you I was happy for you, because I wasn't. I was not, I would never be happy for this. Not for the first time, I was glad to think that you were so used to my lack of empathy that you wouldn't mind.

From that moment on, the only thing I could feel was sadness. Raw, pure, human sadness. Disgusting. Of course I didn't show. I continued my work, my experiments, my life, pretending that I was not mortified. I am good at this. Mycroft now calls me too many times, and Mrs Hudson now looks at me with those puppy eyes. It's quite unbearable. What do they expect me to do? To have an emotional breakdown?

Please. I can't.

I am not a normal person, I can't just have a breakdown, expose my broken heart, ingest high levels of sugar and move on. There's no such thing as “moving on” after you. The only thing that does exist is pretending I've never felt what I've always felt and what I still feel every time I look at you and I'll always feel. I'll pretend. I'm pretending my whole life. I tried to think that maybe being away from you would be less disturbing than staying close to you and not having you. It's stupid. I would do anything to stay close to you. But that isn't my choice to make any more.

 

At least one of us is happy.

I hope you're happy, John, because all this has to be worth it.

I hope that every time I catch you looking at me with your sad eyes it's because you miss our life as flatmates.

Of course it is. It couldn't be any other thing. I don't know why I insist on thinking otherwise.

I do hope you're happy. I would vanish off your life just to make sure you're happy.

You have to be happy, because I can't accept the possibility of suffering like this for nothing.

You have to be happy.

Of course you are. You're a married man, you have a beautiful, boring wife, maybe you'll have kids, and live a normal life.

Is this what you've always wanted? I could never give you this.

I hope this is what you really want, John, because I would give you any other thing, I gave you everything I could. This is the one thing I couldn't give you.

And to think that I used to plan our retirement in Sussex... We and the bees. Ludicrous.

I hope you're happy.

At least one of us is.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written because I was sad after all the setlock and the wedding stuff.
> 
> Of course I knew Johnlock wouldn't be on the show, of course! But I get sad every damn time, with the books, the movies, and any adaptation. In my mind, these two characters have romantic feelings for each other – even if they aren't necessarily sexual. I think there's more affection between them than between many canons of romantic novels. I'm sad for Sherlock.
> 
> All this said...  
> I'm not hating anyone here, I don't send hate to anyone – least of all to Amanda. So if you're reading this and you're sending hate to her, stop, please, because it's silly and you're just embarrassing yourself. Fans have true feelings invested on the show and on the characters. (It's only fiction, but it isn't, is it? We write about this, we talk about this, we freak out, we cry.) So, I don't like to see things turning into mockery. Thank God we have fictions, so we can write happy Johnlock endings until we run out of free space on the damn internet! (It's not the case here, though.)  
> Anyway, try not to send hate to anyone, because it's really not nice. And either way, I know the next episodes will be brilliant like all of the others were.  
> I couldn't resist the urge to name this fic as a sign of rebellion, though. Ha. (:


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